Where The Poppies Grow
by mynameaintjonas
Summary: Alternative History. The central powers have won the first world war and while they enjoy their newfound status, the defeated nations have to learn how to adjust to their new lives, without much success. Tension is on the rise again and it is only a queston of time of when the situation escalates and the fragile peace is disrupted again.
1. Chapter 1

The sun set upon the British Empire. At least on the few shambles of overseas territories and colonies that were still left under British control. That was the same thought that painfully tore Arthur Kirkland back into reality, when he observed the gleaming sunset over the Canadian mainland like he did every night, since arriving here. The days when the sun would slowly leave the North American continent before greeting the Australians again every morning and thus never setting on the British Empire were long over. Well, if you considered six years to be a long time. For Arthur, it seemed like an eternity.

It has been six years since England, as one of the last great forces to be reckoned with left fighting against the central powers, had to surrender against the mighty if also severely weakened Quadruple Alliance. The Englishman snorted with rage, when he remembered the day he accompanied his King, George V, to sign the peace treaty. He huffed again this time followed by a slight shake of the head.

" _Peace_ Treaty" he muttered angrily. As if that bloody piece of paper would ever bring a constant peace to Europe. Or to the world. Anyone involved in drafting that contract, as the majority of the British public preferred to call it, probably knew all to well that these heinous, absurd, embarrassing demands would only sparkled further outrage.

The place where the treat – contract – Arthur reminded himself was to be signed was chosen by the Germans. Even back then Arthur was utterly surprised when he heard the German Emperor had decided upon having the meeting between the English diplomats and the German ones take place in Australia. The official reasons as stated by the German office was that Australia was far off the actual fighting grounds and thus a good place for peace negation, despite the fact that the Australians were of course allied with England. Everyone assigned to the British secretary of war had suspected the eccentric German Kaiser would have taken much more pleasure in humiliating the British within his own country. Arthur had even prepared for that scenario by training to oppress the urge to punch a certain silver haired arrogant twat. However, when the British representatives arrived at an admittedly sordid building complex opposite of the Flinders Street railway station in the makeshift capital of Melbourne, after the actual capital city Canberra had been razed to the ground by early models of Austrian bombers, they were even more surprised by the complete absence of any high ranking officials of any of the central powers. Not one monarch, not one famous general, not even the actual representatives of the countries had made the trip down under. The only people who greeted the British travelers were some unimposing German and Bulgarian politicians and lieutenants, who weren't even important enough for Arthur to recognize any of their faces or names for that matter. The negotiations hadn't even begun and Arthur had already been close to flying into a rage.

"Good evening, gentleman." One man greeted them with an thick Eastern European accent. He gestured towards a couple of cheap looking chairs that were arranged on the opposing site of the table. Grudgingly, Arthur watched as the British monarch and his political advisers hesitantly took their offered seats, while he and most of the guards stood behind them. The following introductions were skimped.

When he had seen the actual contract that was laid before them, for King George V to sign, Arthur did a double take. At the top of the demands made by the victors were heavy reparations, which would most likely end in bankruptcy should England ever be able to pay them off. Prohibitions from entering alliance with certain countries. Restraints on productions. Reduction of the Royal Navy. Having to provide an established amount of medicine for the people, who suffered because of the British naval blockade, as well as admitting full responsibility for the deaths resulting in said blockade. When he set eyes on a simple list without any title or explanation made up of several countries and colonies currently under British rule, Arthur starred bewilderingly up towards the men in front of him. The majority of them were busy explaining and discussing other paragraphs of the treaty to the English diplomats. He looked at each face of their negotiation partners, searching for someone who could define what this list was about, until he noticed that apparently one of these men had been studying him the entire time. When the nation locked eyes with the young man his expression turned into a smile. But it was not a friendly smile, it appeared rather... smug. Looking back Arthur realized the man hadn't contributed a single word to the actual negotiations. The blonde man before him was wearing a field grey coat with two lines of golden buttons on either side, that went up to the collar of the uniform and red-golden epaulets on the shoulder pads (though Arthur couldn't really make out what they depicted). Although Arthur didn't pried himself on recognizing foreign military awards, he could identify the medal pinned to the collar of his uniform as the _Pour le Mérite_. One of the highest orders of merit in the Kingdom of Prussia.

The young officer – Hauptmann Zöllner - as Arthur remembered he had introduced himself earlier, was the first to break the starring contest and instead laid his eyes on the list England had previously tried to figure out. Soundlessly he placed his long index finger on the list. He ignored the heated debate that took had stirred up next to him. By now it had turned rather ugly. When he finally spoke up though, it seemed like his incisive voice cut through all the discussions like a knife through the air.

"Countries that are oppressed by you. In order to gain a peace treaty with us, you will have to grant all of these full independence."

Silence filled the room.

Arthur's features immediately contorted. He knitted his thick brows but his eyes stayed wide open. Without him knowing it, he raised his arm threateningly towards Zöllner and tried his best to keep his voice from trembling.

"Oppressed? We rightfully rule over these territories and have signed agreements. What gives you the right to intervene in issues that don't concern you, ya bloody bastards."

General Genadiev, the oldest of the Bulgarian representatives, opened his mouth to counter Arthur, but was interrupted by another voice before uttering a single word.

"Let it go, mate."

Arthur's anger was exchanged for confusion. He fanatically turned his head around to spot the person who just spoke up. Only now he noticed how dimly lit the shabby room was and how the entire back was covered by the dark. He silently cursed again when he concluded that they might have been caught in an ambush. No wonder no high ranking officials were present. These men sitting before them were probably just some nobodies, who lured them here without any offical German government involvement. Oh, who was he kidding? Without a doubt, that goddamn Kaiser-wanker with his ridiculous mustache had planned this all along. The few English officers, who had accompanied the British King and his underlings seemed to have had the same thought as they moved into a better position to protect their King, should the enemy really attack. Arthur also tried to subtly reach towards the dagger he had keep hidden within his pocket, all the while observing Zöllner and his associates.

"Who's there?" one of the British officers shouted at the dark. A moment of silence followed, only disrupted by the screeching noise of a chair being slide back on the floor by Hauptmann Zöllner, who had stood up and pushed back the chair while doing so. One of the English guards quietly search the small window for a handle. The stuffy air was becoming insufferable.

Arthur caught the smirk that had spread on the Zöllner's face just in time, before the German turned his head back towards the unlit part of the room.

"Please come here, Mister Bennett." Zöllner's accent became more pronounced.

Arthur stood his ground and waited for an reaction from the dark. After a few seconds, hesitant footsteps echoed through the room. The English nation squinted his eyes and tried to make out movements in the shadows, while the footsteps increased and grew louder but he couldn't see anything yet. Was this goddamn room really that long? Silence dominated once more when a man stepped out of the shadows to reveal himself in the light and all eyes looked at him. While some of the English diplomats and officers seemed confused as to who exactly stood in front of them, Arthur recognized the man the moment his eyes caught sight of him. He was slightly taller than Arthur and more muscular. His dark brown, wavy hair was combed back except for one or two strands of hair that popped up at the middle of his head. A pair of emerald green eyes, Arthur normally knew to move around excitingly, looked dejected towards the ground and pointed to a dirty band-aid plastered on the man's nose. What gave away his identity immediately though, were his thick eyebrows, that hung crouched above his eyes. Arthur knew these kind of eyebrows just too well. They were his own.

"Australia" Arthur whispered.

Jett Bennett slowly looked up. "G'day, England."

Seeing his Australian counterpart Arthur finally understood just why the victorious powers scheduled this meeting right here. Especially when he looked back at the countries featured on the list the British crown would have to grant independence to, whether he wanted to or not. The Commonwealth of Australia was the first name on the list. The English would not only leave the peace negotiations defeated but they would also have to endure a more symbolic humiliation. The moment they would sign the treaty, they would abandon this run-down building and step onto soil that just minutes earlier had belonged to them. Arthur had expected that any country would be delighted at being officially and fully declared independent but for some reason he only saw sorrow in the eyes of Jett Bennett and the whole time he was down there he had wondered why. Not for another three years Arthur would realize he misinterpreted Jett's behavior. His expression wasn't one of sadness, disappointment or mourning. He looked guilty. As if he had read the demands of the peace treaty and knew exactly what would happen to the glorious British Empire.

The British representatives gather again to consider the treaty laying before them. Although not all of them wanted to admit it, they knew that there was no other choice for them. Their allies in this truly global war already surrendered or were caught in a crisis of their own. Their army on the brink of mutiny. Their supplies close to an end. They were the losers, only here to prevent further losses. England starred at the papers before them. They remained motionless but Arthur couldn't stop himself from imagining them laughing maliciously at their misery. But maybe these vibes just came from the officers presenting the peace treaty to them. Despite the fact that the victors pretended to treat the British monarch and his adviser as equals in these negotiations, they all knew to evaluate and interpret the situation right. Like a lion watching its prey helplessly toddle in a trap, Zöllner kept his eyes fixated on the British monarch and his quivering hands.

Defeated, Arthur watched George V pick up the quill that lay to the left of the table and dunk the tip of it into the inkwell. The King hesitated and held the quill still above of where he was supposed to sign his name. To sign off the future of his country. A drip of ink leaked from the tip of the nib and fell down. As if in slow motion Arthur watched the drip plummet into uncertainly, much like the future of his own being. Would the drop land on the paper or splash on the desk in front of it? What actually happened to that one driblet of ink Arthur didn't see, as the English King seemed to have snapped out of his trance and quickly lowered his hand to scribble his signature on the designated spot on the paper. After he finished the King promptly pushed to dreaded document towards Zöllner, whose conceited smile was even more unbearable to England than the fuggy air.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

The precise moment King George V put down the quill again the German and Bulgarian representatives picked up their belongings and stuffed them into their suit cases. Without another word they rose from their seats and stormed out of this shabby room and into the fiery sun that awaited them outside. In their hands the new official _Peace Treaty of Melbourne_. The ink hadn't even dried.

Hauptmann Zöllner had picked up his black peaked cap that adorned a red stripe in the middle and featured two cockades, which Arthur recognized as tokens symbolizing the black, white and red flag of the German Empire and the black-white one of Prussia. With his right hand the German officer had put the cap on his head without messing his neatly combed blonde hair. He was the last to exit the room, but not before turning back again towards the humiliated Englishmen and delivering one final blow.

"You're free to go now, gentlemen."

Now Arthur Kirkland was sent to Canada to ensure further cooperation and loyalty of the remaining colonies and dominions. To avoid the pressure and attention of the press Arthur and Matthew Williams, his Canadian counterpart, had agreed upon having their first meeting in a remote village in the north of the country to discuss their plans concerning the future. The Canadian government provided them with a wooden hut and personal. The Englishmen regretted this decision the moment he stepped off the heated jet that had carried him over the ocean and was welcomed by the cool Canadian winter air. Maybe as some sort of redemption Matthew's greeting was that much more enthusiastic. Or maybe he was just happy someone hadn't mistaken him for his loud-mouth of a brother. On the first day they talked about the war and confined their losses and current problems in each other. On the second day they talked about the British-Canadian relationship and how they promised unyielding loyalty. On the third day they compared their economic statuses and proposed ways to pay off the reparations that were imposed on them. On the forth day they review diplomatic relations with out countries. And on the fifth day they were silent. They had nothing more to say to each other. Arthur didn't really knew, if it was because everything there was to it had already been discussed or if they themselves were just at a loss for words. Sitting there in uncomfortable silence, Matthew suggest they go out for moose hunting, explained that is was a popular activity in these regions but Arthur declined. Not because he didn't enjoy hunting in and of itself; he couldn't even remember how many times he had accompanied King George V on his hunts through the English woods. However, the English Nation concluded that he could use this time to finish the report on their meeting and sent it back to his bosses, although he didn't exactly told that to Matthew. So while the Canadian was wandering off in the snow-covered forest, Arthur stayed back in the cosy hut, they had been living at for the last past week.

After lighten the fireplace located in the middle of living room of the hut, Arthur sat down on the wooden chair to finally complete the report requested of him but he just couldn't concentrate. Instead of thinking about the all in all successful talks he had with Matthew, thoughts of betrayal and suspicions plagued his mind. He knew full well that the Canadian was sincere and meant every word he said during their discussions. Ever since meeting the younger Nation he had been nothing, but honest and loyal towards the British Empire. He wouldn't back out now. Not like his backstabbing, mouth-breathing, bloody brother. He wouldn't find anything. He knew it; he was sure of it but still he got up and started open drawers, looking through files and books he found in the hut, inspected every item and object that he came across. But he found nothing, though he did wonder why an adult man kept a teddy bear on open display for everyone to see on a self.

Ashamed, Arthur sat back down again. He wasn't just ashamed at the fact that he had let his suspicion get the better of him and his mistrust had unsurprisingly turned out unfounded, but also because he was almost disappointed that he couldn't find anything. Had he found something, he would have a reason. He would hold it up high in the air and declare that everybody else was to blame for his failures, because he was betrayed by them, even by his closest allies. But he found nothing. And he was deeply ashamed of himself. After that he finished the inchoate report in under a hour.

He asked one of the maids to deliver the report together with other papers and documents all gathered in a packet to the nearest post office. Just as the sun was about to set, Arthur decided to settle on the porch outside the hut, like he and Matthew had done the other nights as well. Despite the ruthless Canadian temperatures, Arthur managed to enjoy being outside after the first few days he had spent here. The orange gleaming horizon more than made up for it. It looked so far away, while at the same time seeming so near. The Englishmen felt the last warming sun rays vanish and shuddered as his cheeks turned colder and colder the more the sun hid behind the striking Canadian mountains. It wouldn't be long now before the sky was completely dark, Arthur concluded. He remembered how one night Matthew had taken him out even further into the woods and they had observed the polar lights. This past week Arthur really learned to appreciate the nature. It was at moments like this he could finally relax and think about anything else other than his situation. That was before a maid quietly knocked on the glass door, bringing him back to reality. The girl – Arthur guessed her no older than twenty – handed him a plain letter apparently sent by a certain Jonathan Harrison. England tried not to let the maid notice his confusion at the unfamiliar name as she handed him the letter.

"Thank you, Miss."

She dropped a curtsy and left without another word. Arthur looked back at her, waiting until she was out of sight before he opened the letter. He pulled out a single paper of the envelope and read it.

" _We need you back here immediately. Come as quickly as possible. Do not confine any of this to Mr. Williams."_

Arthur's hands trembled as he saw the signature. _Quex._


	2. Chapter 2

__1921__

 _Never before in his entire life had he stepped into a more fancy building. He had heard that the_ _ _Neues Palais__ _wasn't even the noblest of palaces in Europe, hell not even in Potsdam, but having grown up in a shabby neighborhood in the city of Kassel, even the ugliest of places would have looked glorious to him. Sure, the capital of Hesse-Nassau, a core province of the Kingdom of Prussia and the German Empire, also had impressive buildings to offer, like the Schloss Wilhelmshöhe, but as a young boy he would have never been granted entrance._

Under different circumstances he would probably have never ended up as a officer of the Prussian army, but for him there hadn't been a realistic alternative. His family background was rather simple after all. As the son of a copper-smith he and his four younger siblings were raised in common fashion at the time. One, if not all, of the male children would succeed their father in his profession. He knew early on there wouldn't be any academic job for him. He wasn't gifted in mathematics, was bored by linguistics and just couldn't get along with his science teacher, which spoiled his interest in the subject. So from the beginning on it was clear, that he would have to take over his father as a copper-smith. That was until the industrialization also swept over the German Empire. With the rise of his homeland, vanished his future. His father's business had to close and so the outbreak of the first World War seemed like a godsend. All of the sudden he turned from a young, lower-middle-class boy without a real perspective into __Schütze__ _Zöllner, one of the lowest rank in the German Infantry. It didn't took him very long to be promoted to_ _ _Gefreiter__ _and then_ _ _Obergefreiter__ _in an even shorter amount of time. Unlike the other boys – he couldn't bring himself to call them men – he didn't join the army because he was drafted or because of his sheer love of his country or because of the promise of glory after a successful battle. He had enlisted himself, because he knew that most likely, he would have to stay here even after the war was over. After the war was won._

 _At the beginning he had tried to impress his commanding officers with his bravery, with his endurance and his patriotism. Like when he had raced to the grenades thrown into their trenches by enemy forces and threw them back out, while the rest of his division hid and ducked behind piles of dirt, mud and gear. Or when he had volunteered to deliver important orders and instructions to other regiments under direct fire from the French soldiers. Or how he was always the loudest when they sang their German marching songs. However, the further he climbed up the career ladder of the army the more he realized that in order to being promoted even higher, boot-licking and brown-nosing proved to be far more efficient. In the end he noticed that he was far better at that, than he would have ever been at mathematics or linguistics._

 _"_ _Hauptmann Zöllner." A rough voice brought him back to reality. He searched around for a source of the voice until his eyes locked onto a tall and well-build guard, who just stepped out of the massive oak doors leading into the Kaiser's private study._

 _"_ _His Highness is ready to receive you now." The guard yelled, a few volumes too loud for Zöllner's liking, but he guessed the men working for the Empire were just trained to talk in a authoritarian way. After all he was too._

 _Zöllner stood up from the bench he was sitting on and thanked the guard before saluting him. The other man followed suit and kept standing by the door, until Zöllner had took himself into the Emperor's private quarters. What awaited him there might have surprised some, but not those who knew the Kaiser personally or at least those that had heard about the Kaiser from their commanding officers. The German Emperor sat laid back on his saddle, which he used as a chair in front of his desk, wearing a full on Guard du Corps uniform on his body and an even larger grin on his face. Zöllner had heard people still referring to the Kaiser as the 'man with the pointed mustache', even though Wilhelm II had outgrown his trademark facial hair by now. His once salient mustache had turned into a full beard covering the lower half of his face. His once dirty blonde hair had lost most of its color and seemed to have become more unruly than ever. While it still lay neatly and clad at the beginning of the parting of his hair, it became curlier and messier towards the end. Zöllner concluded that it looked as if the Kaiser had tried to comb his hair, but just gave up half way through. It all served as a reminder to the young officer. Although the man was well within in sixties, there still was this youthful energy surrounding him. Even as an old man he was still the same. The same man that had once brought glory to their Vaterland. And he could do it once again._

 _"_ _Ah, Hauptmann Zöllner! Come in, come in, quite the pleasure seeing you here." The Kaiser exclaimed happily, as he practically jumped up from his saddle with a energetic alacrity which Zöllner wouldn't even have thought him capable of. With his good right arm he gestured towards a door on the far right next to the enormous windows, through which entered the gleaming sun rays of the early Berlin sun._

 _Zöllner had remembered just in time to let the Kaiser lead the way. After his performance in Melbourne the Bulgarian as well as the few higher-ranking German officers all let him lead the way. Meanwhile the Kaiser apparently didn't even noticed Zöllner's hesitance._

 _As soon as Wilhelm had opened the door, Zöllner spotted two men sitting on what looked to be very expansive sofas while holding tea cups. Both of them looked up, when Wilhelm and Zöllner had entered, with the light-colored man having to turn around as he was facing the door with his back. Zöllner couldn't help but think that he heard the two men hush up immediately after seeing they weren't alone anymore, as if they were discussing something clearly not destined for anyone's but their ears. One of the men, the blonde one, rose from the sofa as Zöllner and Wilhelm neared them and lay down the delicate white china cup he was holding on the equally delicate glass table in front of him._

 _"_ _Hauptmann Moritz Zöllner," he stated in a firm voice while offering him his now cup-free hand, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. If I may introduce my bro-"_

 _"_ _Ahh, shush! No need for introductions. We all know who each of us is." Wilhelm interrupted suddenly, which seemed to have startled the blonde man as he stood frozen and looked perplexed towards Wilhelm, who either didn't notice the glare being sent his way or frankly didn't care._

 _Maybe as some sort of ice breaking, Zöllner decided to chip in, even though he couldn't fully hide the amused smile at the blonde man's distress._

 _"_ _Well, his Majesty is quite right, no? Just like every other self-respecting German soldier and officer, I of course also know of the Misters Beilschmidt, who do such a fine job at representing our great nation." Zöllner tried to soothe the situation, while spreading both of his arms wide to the sides as if he was opting for a hug. He smiled slightly in an attempt to reassure the Kaiser as well as the two brothers._

 _Ludwig Beilschmidt seemed to compose himself at Zöllner's words. He withdrew his hand as he straighten again and instead used it to fasten the top button of his suit jacket and swiped with one of his hands over his sleek, slicked back hair. He grunted quietly, but nodded towards the the young officer before him, although he didn't return the smile. "Indeed. After we were informed that the Treaty of Melbourne was signed, we also heard of you, Hauptmann Zöllner."_

 _"_ _Ach,_ _ _Hauptmann__ _." Wilhelm discounted Ludwig's choice of words with a dismissive wave of his right hand, "After the deed accomplished by our young friend here, I think a promotion is in the air. Don't you think, Oberst Zöllner?"_

 _"_ _Oberst?!" Gilbert Beilschmidt blurted out shocked, as he jolted up from the sofa and starred at Wilhelm, "Your Majesty, forgive my bluntness, but I think you got something mixed up here."_

 _Observing his brother from the side, Ludwig could see how much it required his brother to stay clam and address Wilhelm in an at least somewhat polite manner. His eyes were wide open and his eyebrows slightly creased ,as his brow furrowed. Ludwig even heard a low, worn out breath leaving Gilbert's slightly opened mouth. Meanwhile Gilbert stretched out his hands with open palms as if demanding an explanation._

 _Unlike Ludwig, Wilhelm wasn't as concerned about Gilbert, as he shrug off the Prussian's objection the same way he had dismissed Ludwig earlier. "I'm sure nobody would dare questioning if a promotion of a man, who performed such a great deed for our country and ourselves, was all according to protocol." The Kaiser smiled reassuringly to Zöllner, who saw the time ripe to interfere now._

 _"_ _Now your Majesty, while I am more than flattered to hear such kind words from your mouth and am honored to even be considerable for a promotion, I think I have to decline and agree with Mister Beilschmidt here. It was only because of your as well as your hand-picked advisers' fantastic warfare, which put the there-present officers and me in such a powerful position to negotiation a peace treaty, the allies had no other option but to sign. I hardly think my involvement was enough to justify a promotion that would completly skip one rank." Zöllner spoke softly and calmly in a voice he hoped sounded sincere. He made a mental note to keep practicing that later._

 _"_ _Nonsense, Zöllner. Don't sell yourself short, my boy. Major Weißberg and Oberstleutnant Heitfeld have already reported back to their commander in chief, that you are the most responsible for this success. Tsar Boris transmitted a telegram telling me that even the Bulgarian representatives thought you were the most intimidating negotiator present. But if the Misters Beilschmidt insist and your modesty prevents you from accepting my offer, we'll do it like this. For now you are hopefully going to accept a promotion to Major and who knows, maybe by the end 'Oberst' will slip over my mouth again, how does that sound, Misters Beilschmidt, Major Zöllner?" The Kaiser grinned like a child who just played a trick on its parents._

 _Gilbert bit his lower lip, until he tasted a small drop of blood within his mouth. He looked up towards his brother, prompting him to interfere. When it came to Wilhelm, he knew Ludwig was better suited to talk to him. After all, they almost grew up together. As a young child Wilhelm had seen and witnessed the very shaping of the country he would one day reign and as a result took a very specific liking to Ludwig. Certainly greater than that of his grandfather, who only reluctantly and with quite the pressure and persuasion put onto him by none other than Bismarck, accepted the very idea of a unified Germany. Of Gilbert's little brother. But to his dismay, Gilbert's little brother stayed silent. He merely observed the conversation before him with his expression set in stone. Gilbert wanted to scream, to urge him forward, to somehow interrupt what was about to happen. But no one said a word. He knew that Wilhelm would accepted Ludwig's opinion and advises, sometimes that is, but from him? Despite being called German Emperor, Wilhelm oftentimes saw himself very much as the Emperor of Germany. Maybe because of the only minor age difference or maybe because he witnessed the declaration of Ludwig as a official country himself as a young boy, but the Kaiser firmly believed his words to be given and anyone disagreeing certainly wasn't one Wilhelm kept around him for a very long time. In fact there were only a few people whom Wilhelm actually listened to, and from whom he accepted differing opinions, Ludwig counted to them, at least to some degree; Gilbert not so much. In retrospect, the albino had to admit that he was also partly to blame for that. Although Wilhelm's grandfather Wilhelm I wasn't so keen on Ludwig, he felt much more passionate about Prussia. His reluctance to accept the crown and title of German Emperor probably wasn't least founded in the fear, that he would have to give up the title of King of Prussia. A title Gilbert could never stand. Or at least not in the way the people said it nowadays. King_ _ _of__ _Prussia. As if he belonged to someone. That was probably one of the reasons he had liked none of the other monarchs that came with the time, quite as much as Frederick the Great. After all it was him, who referred to himself as the first servant of state, rather than king. Back in the 1860s he sensed something similar like that in the future Kaiser Friedrich III and his wife Princess Royal Victoria. They were the ones who wanted to break with the reactionary, ultraconservative future plans the reigning monarchs had in mind for Germany. He was a liberal at heart, she was one in mind. Together they wanted to form an open-minded, democratic, enlightened Germany. Apart from his brother's happiness, Gilbert also had his own reasons in supporting the then crown prince and crown princess. A democratic country meant one not at mercy of having to dodge a bullet every time the current monarch dies and having to hope that his successor isn't a complete buffoon. So Gilbert tended to side with Friedrich III and his wife more often later on, when they clashed against Wilhelm I and Bismarck. The young Wilhelm II, who would grow up to associate everything related to his parents as the pure evil, started to take notice how his parents suddenly got backing by a certain gray-haired albino. Looking back, Gilbert thought that he really shouldn't have underestimated young Wilhelm or maybe should have paied more attention to the psychological damage his sometimes admittedly harsh upbringing had on him. But Gilbert was too busy to notice how the young boy was constantly swamped by his parents' high academic expectations on him, how he was pushed back onto the horse again and again when he was forced to learn how to ride and his crippled left arm couldn't keep him balanced on top of the horse or how his perfectionist mother's rather bluntly shown disdain for his disability prevented her from loving him unconditionally._

 _"_ _Well, I think_ _ _I__ _am hardly in a position to disagree." Zöllner brought the conversation back on track with a subtle, smug smile, which made Gilbert wonder if the small-sized man could read thoughts._

 _"_ _Splendid!" Wilhelm tossed in without awaiting some reply from the two nations. "Then I would ask you, Herr Major, to follow me into one of the more secluded rooms and tell me in great detail how the meeting went. My cousin Georgie was there, no? Tell me, did he say something about me?"_

 _Gilbert and Ludwig watched their Kaiser and the newly promoted and soon-to-be promoted officer escape through the same wooden door they emerged from. Gilbert kept on observing them as they slowly exited from his line of vision and saw how Wilhelm lightly slapped the smaller man on the shoulder in an encouraging manner. His next gaze however, fell on his brother._

 _"_ _I am sure you're going to tell me why you didn't object?" Gilbert's voice still reflected the stress from having to keep his mouth shut._

 _Ludwig didn't reply at first. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his head slightly. "Why does this matter so much to you?" He eventually said, much rougher than even he had anticipated._

 _"_ _Why it matters to me?" Ludwig sighed inwardly as he heard his brother's anger level rising again, "Why doesn't this seem to concern you?! Handing out orders and promoting as if they meant nothing. For which some people actually risked and lost their lives. And he just hands them out like this. This doesn't make you mad at all?"_

 _"_ _Shhhsh!" The blonde man hissed, "Stay quiet. They're only in the next room, they'll hear you."_

 _Gilbert rolled his eyes, but listened to his brother nonetheless and quieten down. "Just as well. It would be time someone actually stood against him and told him something about how a proper head of state should behave."_

 _After he deemed his brother had calmed down enough – although he was still mumbling and pouting in his seat – Ludwig moved over to him and sat down. "I hope you can control yourself this time when I ask you again, why does this matter to you so much? And don't get me wrong, I don't like this either, but not all medals, promotions or orders were given out just for actual deeds committed. Having the right connection or a certain blood line has been enough for a lot of cases. You didn't even complain that much when that idiot von Steerthoff was promoted to Lieutenant, just because his late father was a second cousin to the Mayor's favorite carter's wife best friend. In comparison to him, Zöllner seems more than overqualified to be given the supreme command of the entire military. So I have to ask you again, why does this matter so much to you?"_

 _"_ _Because he's here to stay. I may not know Wilhelm as well as you do, but I saw it in him. He wants to keep that toady around." Gilbert explained while he grimaced as if he had tasted British food._

 _"_ _A few flattering words and you think Wilhelm would be deluded by him? I know probably better than anyone that Wilhelm has troubles separating personal and business things, but he's not so easily stricken to just accept everyone who adulates him. Especially during the war he was very keen on only trusting people who proved their trust in them."_

 _"_ _Oh, please you know as well as I do, that he's desperate for applause and praise and anyone who gives just that to him convincingly, is already in his good books. And hearing that from someone who might be quite the big shot in the future? Even the foreign print media were reporting and fearing of him after he was propagated as the one who brought the British king down on his knees. I'm telling you, we certainly haven't seen the last from that midget."_

 _"_ _Then explain to me, why would that be so bad? You have gotten used to a lot of different officers and advisers around the Kaisers and Kings around here and I know very well of your hatred towards some of the inner circle. Why would Zöllner be such an awful addition?"_

 _"_ _Haven't you heard what he said?" Gilbert was becoming louder again. "'Who do such a fine job at_ _ _representing__ _our great nation'." he quoted Zöllner and even imitated the man's singsong voice. Frustrated he rose from his seat and lunched at the glass table before him, which caused the tea cups on it to shatter into pieces as they landed harshly on the floor boards. Gilbert stormed off after that, leaving Ludwig behind alone to collect the broken pieces he had caused._

 _Kneeling down on the floor, Ludwig almost seemed like he wanted to laugh, although he rolled his blue eyes. "So this is what it's about again." he huffed. Ludwig couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or in some weird way even amused about his brother's constant complaint. On second thought though, he was definitely annoyed. He didn't know if Gilbert had always had this issue with being disregard as just a representative and he had only just noticed it now or if he developed that habit rather recently. Ludwig saw it as a necessity, that they should accept or at least tolerate that sometimes their tasks were reduced to mundane representative duties. He had managed to come to terms with that very early on, but Gilbert not so much. Sometimes Ludwig wondered if he really was the older one of the two brothers. Although he would never say it out loud, Ludwig found himself more often speculating if Prussia as a actual state really had a future. Now he was sure no monarch that came from the Hohenzollern dynasty would abolish Prussia and he would certainly risk his own life for his brother, but he also knew of Gilbert's temperament and rash personality and how traits like these weren't exactly useful in times when every word has to be weight up, because it could have caused a war. Or maybe even cause the next one. But no, he shouldn't be thinking about something like that. About Gilbert's values being denigrated or about yet another war. He didn't have time to wonder about these 'What if thoughts'. They were useless, unrealistic and absurd. Like, what if Prussia was to be abolished? What if had Germany had lost the war? Agh! Ludwig cursed his abstruse thoughts again, as he noticed that they had distracted him from what he was actually doing. He opened his clenched palm to reveal blood dripping down his hand as he had cut himself from one of the shard from the broken tea cup pieces he had picked up._


End file.
